































































































































































































































































































GopightN?_ 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



























































































» 



















































































'■■■.'■y'v 


p3ra$ 


M 


-'ll* 























































THE HYGIENIC PIG 

AND OTHER STORIES 


JANET FIELD HEATH 

ILLUSTRATIONS BY 

LUDWIG AND REGINA 




BECKLEY-CARDY COMPANY 
CHICAGO 





Copyright, 1925, 1931, by 
BECKLEY-CARDY COMPANY 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 


A few of the stories in this collection are reprinted through 
courtesy of John Martin’s House, Social Progress, and The Beacon 


PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 


DEC 11 1931 

©CIA 46276 


/s 'z&Jr Wga 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

The Hygienic Pig. 7 

Big Black Bear.14 

The Ant That Climbed a Mountain .... 23 

The Little Brown Shoes.32 

The Lost Tricycle.37 

The Field Mouse’s Adventure.44 

The Bird That Forgot to Sing.50 

The Little Old Man.54 

Polly’s Birthday Roses.63 

Bobby and the Coming-Home Train .... 70 

The Lost Song.77 

Peggy and the Lollipop Man.81 

Far-Away and Long-Ago.93 

The Best Gift .99 

The Story of Morning-Glory.107 

Little Black Dog.113 

The Blue Rabbit.120 

Blue Rabbit in Sky Land.129 


5 










































































< 


1 

































l 











1 








I 
















* 



































THE HYGIENIC PIG 

Once upon a time there was a little pig. 
He was so clean and pink that I believe he 
was the nicest little pig you ever saw. 

When Little Pig was just a tiny, wee, 
baby pig, his Mother said, “This is the 
nicest baby I have ever had. He is too sweet 
to grow up in this dirty old pen.” 


7 






















So she took him away and built for him a 
beautiful little house. It was clean as clean 
could be. Not a speck of mud was there 
anywhere. She even made a little flower 
garden out in front. 

“He shall be a hygienic pig,” said his 
Mother, proudly. So she gave Little Pig a 
bath every day. She sent him to market 
each morning to buy big baskets full of 
spinach and lettuce and apples and other 
good things to eat. 

All went very well for a time. Then one 
fine spring day, as Little Pig was coming 
home with his basket, he saw something 
that made him stop. The farmer had just 
turned all the other pigs out into the 
orchard. 

What a good time they were having— 
rolling and tumbling about in the mud, and 
grunting and squealing at every breath! 


8 



Little Pig put down his basket. He came 
nearer to the orchard. And before he knew 
it, there he was, down in the mud with the 
rest of the pigs. He rolled about and 
squealed as loud as any of them. 

It was hours before he even thought of 
his basket again. And when he did, there 
wasn’t much left of it. 


9 







The other pigs had eaten the apples and 
dragged the vegetables all over the ground. 
They even ate a part of the basket itself. 

Little Pig was ashamed to go home. But 
he was a good, honest little pig, so he picked 
up what was left of his basket and crept 
along and went in by the back door. 

My, but he was a sight! 

His Mother just sat down and cried when 
she saw him. 

Little Pig looked at her sadly. 

“It was such fun,” he said. 

His Mother stopped crying and began to 
think. 

“I believe it was,” she said. “I used to 
like it myself. From now on we will go and 
roll in the mud every day before we take 
our bath. After all, it is staying dirty and 
putting dirty things inside of you that 
matters.” 


10 


So she washed Little Pig clean and sent 
him out into the garden to play. 

Little Pig was so happy he danced all 
around the flower beds on his hind legs just 
like a regular circus pig. And everybody 
that saw it said, “Oh, isn’t that a dear little 
house, and isn’t that a darling pig!” 

And every day Little Pig played in the 
garden before he had his bath. 

A Little Pig to Market Went 

Now one of you may be the Pig, 

And one may be his Mother, 

And for the good old Market Man 
You may choose still another. 

A little pig to market went, 

To market went, to market went, 

A little pig to market went, 

Nice little pig. 


n 



Oh, he was by his mother sent, 
Mother sent, mother sent, 

He was by his mother sent, 

With a basket big. 

“Now what have you that’s nice to-day, 
That’s nice to-day, that’s nice to-day, 


12 











Say, what have you that’s nice to-day?” 
This little pig said. 

“Everything that’s fresh and green, 

That’s fresh and green, that’s fresh and 
green, 

Everything that’s fresh and green, 

And apples red.” 

“Oh, I will have a peck of each, 

A peck of each, a peck of each, 

Please, I will have a peck of each,” 

This pig did say. 

And then back home he went again, 

He went again, he went again, 

And then back home he went again, 
Straight away. 


13 



BIG BLACK BEAR 

Big- Black Bear lived in the woods. Truly 
he was big- and he was black! Besides, he 
was the very Grossest bear in the whole 
woods. 


14 









When he came down the path, plunk- 
plunk-plunk, all the rabbits and squirrels 
and opossums and woodchucks scampered 
away. 

Even the birds flew up to the tops of the 
trees, although they knew very well that 
bears cannot climb so high. 

Big Black Bear always growled in a very 
dreadful manner. “Woof-woof-woof!” was 
the way it sounded. 

And that did not make the poor little 
animals feel any better. They ran to their 
holes whenever they heard him. They were 
frightened. 

Once Big Bear was coming down the path 
all growly-growly, just as the old screech 
owl was waking up in her hole. She could 
not think for a moment what that noise 
was. So she put her head out of her hole 
and called, “Who-o, who-o?” 


15 


Big Black Bear looked up and said, “Well, 
if you don’t know who, you just come down 
here and you will find out.” 

Of course that didn’t make anybody feel 
any better. 

Now while things were going along so 
badly, it happened that a little girl came 
into the woods. She was singing and pick¬ 
ing flowers, somewhat like Red Riding 
Hood, you know. Only here it wasn’t a sly 
wolf that came out in front of her, but a 
big, black, cross old bear! And he stood 
right in her way and said, “Woof, woof!” 
as loud as he could. 

He expected to see the little girl run 
away. But no, she came right straight up 
to him. 

“Oh, what a nice, big doggie,” she said. 
“Here doggie, come here, doggie.” 

“Woof, woof, woof!” the bear said again, 


16 



louder than ever. But the little girl only 
laughed until her voice sounded like a silver 
bell through the woods. 

She wasn’t afraid of Big Black Bear. 

“You can’t scare me,” she said. “I know 
you don’t wish to be mean. Our old dog 
Ted does that way at home.” And she knelt 


17 










down and put her soft arms right around 
that cross old bear’s neck. 

Big Black Bear tried to growl—oh, how 
he tried! But somehow he couldn’t. And 
in a moment he just turned around and 
walked away back into the woods, with his 
head to the ground, down, down, down. 

Something queer had happened to him. 
He couldn’t help thinking how nice it was 
to meet somebody who wasn’t afraid of him. 
He couldn’t help remembering how nice it 
felt to have the little girl’s arms around his 
neck. 

Big Black Bear sat in his cave for several 
days and thought things over. 

One fine morning when Little Brown 
Hare ran across his path, Big Bear spoke 
to him in such a soft voice that Brown Hare 
sat right up on his hind legs and listened. 
And he did not feel afraid. 


18 



“Tell all the animals,” said Big Black 
Bear, “that they need not be afraid of me 
any more. I was just fooling all the time. 
I never want to eat anything but honey and 
berries and things like that. And I wish to 
talk to folks and be as friendly as the rest 
of you. 

“You need not all run away because my 
voice isn’t as sweet as it might be.” 


19 












Well, that Brown Hare was certainly sur¬ 
prised! But he travels fast, you know, and 
it wasn’t noon-time before he had told 
everybody in the woods what the Big Black 
Bear had said. 

“Don’t you believe him! Don’t you be¬ 
lieve him!” shrieked Blue Jay. 

Old Owl stuck her head out of her hole 
and said, “Who-o!” as though she didn’t 
believe a word of it. 

But many of the other animals thought 
differently. So the bravest of them tried it 
out. 

When Big Black Bear came plunk-plunk¬ 
ing along each morning, the animals stood 
a little way off and called, “Good morning! 
Good morning!” 

By and by they came closer and asked 
if he didn’t think the days were getting 
shorter, or something like that. 


20 


When nothing- unpleasant at all happened 
and Big- Black Bear looked at them so 
kindly and talked about the nice honey he 
was g-oing- to have for dinner, the whole 
woods seemed to lose its fear of him. 

Wee robins chirped sweetly from near 
the very spot where Big Bear was passing. 

Little Brown Hare hopped merrily around 
the Bear’s den. 

Frisky Squirrel no longer ran up the tree 
when he saw Big Black Bear coming. 

In fact everybody, including the old bear, 
found the woods a much pleasanter place to 
live in. 

So when the days really did get short and 
the cold winter fell over the earth, Mr. Big 
Black Bear went way back in his cave and 
lay down on his soft, warm bed till spring 
should come again. That was the way he 
did every winter. 


21 



But this time he left the whole woods 
outside loving him. And when he put his 
paw into his mouth and fell asleep, he 
dreamed that the little girl had come again 
and put her arms around his neck. 


22 












THE ANT THAT CLIMBED 
A MOUNTAIN 

Little Ant was very much dissatisfied. 
“What is there to see, crawling around here 
on the ground!” said he. “The same old 
things day after day. It seems very dull 
to me.” 

“Dear me,” said his Mother, “what is the 
matter with you? Why cannot you be like 
the rest of the ants? Go and climb to the 
top of the ant hill. Maybe you can see 
something from there.” 

“Pooh! the ant hill!” cried the Little Ant. 
“I have been there before—there is nothing 
to see from there!” 

“Go and climb up a nice grass blade 
then,” said his Mother. “Only do be careful 
that a hoptoad or something doesn’t eat 
you up.” 


23 



The Little Ant thought climbing the 
grass blade might be fun. It was quite hard 
work, too, for the grass blade swayed and 
bent in the breeze. But soon he reached 
the top and looked about. Then he shook 
his head. 

“Same old things,” he said. “Grass and 
ground-flowers and feet—a robin and a 
toad.” 

And the toad seemed to be looking right 
at him. 


24 







Then with a quick move Little Ant hid 
himself. “You won’t get me, old fellow,” 
he said to the toad. 

And the Little Ant scrambled down and 
went back to the ant hill, more dissatisfied 
than ever. 

“I declare, I don’t know what to do with 
you,” cried his poor Mother. “An ant is an 
ant and that is all there is to it. Do try and 
be a little more like the rest of us.” 

But there was an old Grandfather Ant 
who felt sorry for the Little Ant, and he 
said: “Why don’t you let him climb to the 
top of that big mountain? Then perhaps 
he would be satisfied.” 

“How can you suggest such a thing?” 
said the Mother. “Why, he would be 
trampled to pieces and never come back!” 

“Well, being dissatisfied is about as bad 
as being trampled upon,” said the Grand- 


25 


father Ant, who knew a thing or two. 
“Better let him go.” 

“Oh, yes, Mother, let me go. I will be 
ever so careful,” begged the Little Ant. 

So with a few tears from his Mother, the 
Little Ant set out. 

There in the distance stood the big moun¬ 
tain. How green and still it looked! Little 
Ant fairly trembled as he looked at it, but 
he hurried on till he reached its base. 

Then slowly and carefully he began to 
climb. In between stones and up little paths 
he went, day after day, through hot and 
cold, wet and dry places. At last he reached 
the top of the mountain. 

“Oh—oh—oh! How wonderful!” cried 
the Little Ant. “Here, at last, I shall see 
the world!” 

He was crawling to the edge of the moun¬ 
tain to look down, when he heard a noise 


26 


above him and looked up. There on a rock 
above him sat a Hawk. 

“Alas, alas! Is this the end of me? 
Please do not eat me,” he begged of the 
Hawk. 

The big bird looked down. “Well, well, 
well! What is a little thing like you doing 
all the way up here?” 

Little Ant told his story. 

“Bless me,” said the Hawk. “I really 
have a heart, you know, though most people 
think I haven’t. So you want to see the 
world, do you? Well, you shall. Come right 
up here under my wing, so the wind can’t 
blow you away, and I will tell you all about 
it. I wouldn’t eat a little thing like you.” 

Half afraid, Little Ant crept closer. Safe 
under the Hawk’s big wing he sat won¬ 
dering. 

Then the Hawk started to fly. 


27 


Little Ant looked down at the earth. 

Such sights to be seen! Big men and 
women that looked like dolls below. Church 
steeples that looked like toothpicks, big 
factories like playhouses, large lakes like 
little pools. 

Birds were flying and flapping—and sky 
—there was sky everywhere. Such colors, 
too. Little Ant closed his eyes, so used to 
the brown earth, then opened them again to 
look and look. There were greens and 
blues, pinks and whites, browns and yellows 
everywhere he turned. 

“I shall never forget it!” he said. 

“Of course you won’t,” said the Hawk. 
“It is a wonderful thing to look at, this old 
world of ours. Now that you have seen it, 
it is yours forever. Go back home now, 
before I fly away.” 

And back home went Little Ant. So 


28 



dazzled was he by all he had seen, it was 
really a wonder he didn’t get stepped upon. 
But he came safe and sound at last to his 
own little ant hill. 


29 

















Then all the other ants gathered around 
to hear what he had seen. It was hard for 
mere ants to believe, but what a wonderful 
tale it was! 

“Now,” said the Mother to Little Ant, 
“you have seen the world, so get back to 
your dirt-carrying.” 

Little Ant tried and tried to do that. But 


30 







every once in a while he would sit down and 
think of all the things he had seen. 

“Let him alone,” said old Grandfather 
Ant. “An ant hill, like everything else, has 
to have a dreamer or two. All people have 
not the same work to do. When we are all 
tired of dirt, we can come to Little Ant and 
he will rest us with his tales. Through his 
eyes we shall all see the world.” 

So the Little Ant became the story-teller 
and this was the biggest and happiest ant 
hill ever. 


31 



THE LITTLE BROWN SHOES 

Once upon a time there were two little 
brown shoes. 

Every morning a Little Boy put on the 
brown shoes and wore them through the 
whole day. Sometimes the brown shoes 
were muddy. Then after a time they were 
rubbed rough at the toes. But they didn’t 
mind that a bit, because they loved the 
Little Boy very much. 


32 







Little Boy loved the brown shoes, too. He 
liked their nice, strong laces, that went in 
and out, and their jolly thick soles that went 
tap, tap, tap, up and down the pavement. 

But the Little Boy had a bad habit—he 
used to run away! Far down the street and 
around the corner he would go and nobody 
could find him. It worried his Mother so. 


33 









“Oh, Little Boy, Little Boy!” she said to 
him sadly. “What makes you run away?” 

“I don’t know,” said Little Boy. “I think 
it is my little brown shoes. They go tap, 
tap, tap, down the street and before I know 
it, I am running away.” 

“Very well,” said his Mother. “I will take 
off the brown shoes.” 

So she drew off the shoes and put them on 
a high shelf in the closet. On Little Boy’s 
feet she put a pair of Big Sister’s shoes that 
sister had outgrown, oh, long, long, ago. 

Little Boy didn’t like Big Sister’s shoes. 
They were white, with shiny black tops. 
They had buttons, too, that twisted Little 
Boy’s fingers. And they didn’t go tap, tap, 
like the little brown shoes. 

Little Boy wore them three days and all 
that time he thought very hard. At last he 
came to his Mother. 


34 



“I don’t believe it was my little brown 
shoes that go tap, tap, that made me run 
away,” he said. 

“I think it was something inside of me 
higher up that goes tick, tick. Give me 
back my little brown shoes and I will make 
the little clock inside of me tick so slowly 
that I will not run away.” 


35 







His Mother brought the brown shoes out 
of the closet. Oh, how glad they were to see 
Little Boy again! They snuggled up close 
as he laced them, and they didn’t mind a bit 
when he jumped up and down. Little Boy 
was glad, too, to get them back. 

“Come on, little brown shoes,” said the 
Little Boy. “Let us go out and play.” 


Little Brown Shoes 

Little brown shoes, one and two, 

Little brown shoes, what do you do? 

We carry a small boy all through the day, 
Until he is tired, so tired from play. 

Like sentinels brave, we stand by his bed 
Till sunbeams tap at the little boy’s head, 
Then out pop little feet, one and two— 
Little brown shoes, now where are you? 


36 


THE LOST TRICYCLE 

Little Boy was sitting on his Tricycle, all 
ready for his morning ride. 

“Now, Little Boy,” said his Mother, “don’t 
go far away. Just to the corner, you know. 
Don’t forget.” 

“I won’t,” said Little Boy, as he waved 
good-by to his Mother and rode off. 

“Just to the corner—just to the corner. 
That’s always the way,” grumbled the Tri¬ 
cycle to itself. “I think she might let us go 
around the corner just once. I've never 
had so much as a peep around and I’ve been 
here almost a month.” 

When they reached the corner of the 
street that naughty Tricycle tried to turn 
the front wheel just enough to slide around! 
But Little Boy was too good a driver and 
they went back home again. 

“Up and down, up and down. Oh, how I 


37 


would like to go around!” sighed the poor 
iittle three-wheeler, as Little Boy checked 
it at the corner. 

“Dear me! My Tricycle squeaks!” said 
Little Boy. “I suppose it needs oiling.” 

“Oiling indeed!” thought the Tricycle. 
“What I need is a change of scene.” 

Just then Little Boy thought of some¬ 
thing he wanted in. the house. He jumped 
off and ran inside. As he jumped, his foot 
gave the Tricycle a little push and away it 
started down the hill alone. 

Right to the corner it went, a bit wobbly, 
but oh, so gaily! 

When it reached the corner, oh me, oh 
my! With a jerk and a slide, it went around 
and on down the other street. 

It was a long street and a down-hill 
street. Once it got started, away the little 
Tricycle went! There was no Little Boy’s 


38 


hand on the handle-bar now to stop it and 
let it look at things. There was no Little 
Boy to say “Whoa!” at the street crossings. 

“Oh—oh! That automobile almost caught 
me!” cried the Tricycle, jumping up the 
curb at a great rate. “I suppose that is 
why Little Boy’s Mother says, ‘Just to the 
corner.’ ” 

On went the Tricycle, faster and faster. 

Oh, what was that just in front of it? 
Water! It was the pond. 

“Mercy me, I’m going in!” thought the 
poor Tricycle. But no! The front wheel 
turned on a big stone and away went the 
Tricycle, down a side street this time, as 
fast as ever. 

“I suppose that’s another reason why 
Little Boy’s Mother says, ‘Just to the cor¬ 
ner.’ Oh, how I wish I were safe at home! 
Will nothing ever stop me?” 


39 


The poor Tricycle was hurrying so fast 
that it did not see an Express Wagon that 
was standing in the middle of the sidewalk. 
Bang! The Tricycle bumped right into the 
Express Wagon. 

“Why don’t you look where you’re go¬ 
ing?” cried the Wagon. 

“Why don’t you keep off the sidewalk?” 
asked the Tricycle. 

They looked at each other crossly for a 
minute. Then the Tricycle said humbly, 
“Well, I suppose I ought really to thank 
you for stopping me.” And then it told the 
Wagon all about how it came to be there. 

“What! Never been off your own street 
before?” exclaimed the Express Wagon. 
“Why, I’ve been to market and every¬ 
where.” 

“Well, I tell you,” said the Tricycle to its 
new friend, “whenever I go again, I want 


40 



Little Boy to be right with me. Oh dear! 
It’s beginning to rain and I’ve never been 


41 






















wet in my life. Little Boy takes such good 
care of me.” 

“You ought to be thankful for that,” 
sighed the Express Wagon. “My Little Boy 
never thinks of putting me away. He al¬ 
ways leaves that for his Mother to do. See! 
Here she is now. I told you so.” 

Just then a gentle Little Lady came to 
take the-Express Wagon in out of the rain. 
When she saw the Tricycle, she looked up 
and down the street for a Little Boy. Then 
she rang the doorbells on both sides of her 
own home. 

But no one had lost a Tricycle, so she took 
the pretty three-wheeler .up on her porch. 
And there it stayed all afternoon and all 
that night. 

“I shall never see my Little Boy again!” 
thought the lonely little Tricycle. 

But the next afternoon in the newspaper 


42 


were printed two notices about the Tricycle. 

One said “ Lost —A Tricycle. Rubber 
tires. Quite new.” 

The other said: “ Found —A small Tri¬ 
cycle. Rubber tires. Quite new.” 

So it happened that the Little Boy who 
owned the Tricycle and his Mother met the 
Little Boy who owned the Express Wagon 
and his Mother. 

In a minute everybody was laughing and 
trying to explain how it happened. 

And the first Little Boy got on his Tri¬ 
cycle and rode it home. And as he rode he 
patted it lovingly and said, “Guess it did 
this Tricycle good to run away. It doesn’t 
squeak any more.” 


43 



THE FIELD MOUSE’S ADVENTURE 

“O-oh—how cold it is!” cried a Little 
Field Mouse one morning late in autumn. 
“The corn is all cut down and the wind is 
so cold. I must find a good, warm home for 
the winter.” 

She scampered across the field and looked 
about with her bright eyes. All at once she 
saw something that made her stop in fright. 


44 






“What a big bird—oh, what a dreadful, 
big bird!” she cried. “How still he sits! I 
must hide quickly, or he will eat me!” 

She looked all around for a hiding place. 

The only hole she saw was beneath an 
apple tree. Carefully the Little Field Mouse 
crept into it and looked out at the terrible 
monster sitting at the edge of the field. But 
not a move did the big bird make. 


45 










At length, tired with watching, the tiny 
Mouse crept farther down into the hole and 
fell asleep. 

Now, if you had been there, you would 
have known what the Field Mouse did not 
know. The big bird at the edge of the field 
was not a bird at all, but an airship which 
had been left there for just a short time. 

And the nice, safe hole into which mousie 
had crawled was a pocket in the coat of one 
of the drivers of the airship. 

Soon after the Field Mouse fell asleep the 
air-men returned. One of them picked up 
the coat and put it on. Then across the field 
they went to the airship. 

There was a whirr—whirr—whir-r-ing 
sound and a leap, leap, leap, and then a sud¬ 
den rush of air! 

The Little Field Mouse awoke with a 
start. Although the pocket was so soft and 


46 


warm and safe, her tiny heart was going 
pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat. 

“Dear me, how queer I feel!” she sighed. 
She stirred about and peeped out. Nothing 
did she see that looked like a cornfield. But 
close, oh, so close, was a big, brown hand. 

Tremblingly Miss Mousie crept back into 
the pocket. What could be the matter? 
Here she was in the same nice hole, yet she 
felt as though the cat were chasing her. 

Oh!—now she felt as if she were falling 
from the tallest cornstalk that ever grew. 

Poor Little Mouse! 

The airship was safe again on the ground, 
but about fifty miles away from the corn¬ 
field. The men, walking into a house, once 
more threw off their coats. 

There was a sound of voices and a smell 
of good things to eat. Then all was still. 
The men had gone to their dinner. 


47 



Little Field Mouse crept up and peered 
about. Not a person anywhere, not a cat or 
a dog. At last she was safe. 

Cautiously she crept forth and ran 
straight to the darkest corner of the sweet, 
warm room. 

“What a time I have had!” she sighed. 
“But I have found a good home and one 
thing I know—next time I fall asleep, I 
shall be sure I am safe in my own little bed.” 


48 




Squeak! 

“Squeak!” cried a little mouse. “Dear! 
dear! dear! 

The cornfield is frozen, winter is here: 
Fare is so scanty, not a seed can I see, 

And no one opens a door to me. 

“Nobody wants me in her lap, 

The shelves are full, but I’m afraid of 
traps. 

Everybody shakes me from his shoe! 

What, oh what can a poor mouse do? 

“Squeak! I am as sad as sad can be, 
Won’t some kind child find a home for 
me— 

Just a dark corner where I may stay 
Till Spring 1 brings mousie a nice, warm 
day?” 


49 


THE BIRD THAT FORGOT TO SING 


This is the story of a Little Bird that had 
a beautiful voice. 

Whenever he sang the Flowers stood on 
tiptoe and swayed in delight. The Bees for¬ 
got to be quite so busy. 

The Noisy Wind changed his whistling to 
listening. Even the good Old Sun sent out 
a broader smile. 

Of course the Little Bird didn’t know all 
this. He sang just because the world was 
so beautiful and he was so happy. 

By and by there came a time when the 
world did not seem so beautiful to the Little 
Bird. The Flowers were putting their seed 
stores away for the winter and they became 
brown and dry. 

The Trees shook off their leaves and dull 
grey clouds filled the sky. 


50 



The Little Bird, cold and unhappy, seemed 
to have all he could do to find food and 
shelter. 

As he sat so in his evergreen tree one day, 
the Wind came sailing by. 


51 











“What is the matter with you?” the Wind 
said, scolding. “Why don’t you sing?” 

“Sing!” exclaimed the Little Bird. “How 
can I sing? Everything is so sad. What is 
the matter with everything?” 

“They are all waiting to hear you sing,” 
said the Wind. 

“Me!” piped the bird. “A little thing like 
me! What difference does it make whether 
I sing or not?” 

“It makes a great deal of difference,” 
laughed the Wind. “Try it and see.” 

The Little Bird raised his head. He 
flapped his wings and sent out a faint trill— 
then another and another, until finally there 
floated out on the air his old, lovely song. 

And would you believe it, the Wind 
stopped his scolding and became oh, so 
quiet! Then the Sun shone brightly, and 
up from the frozen ground a little Yellow 


52 



Dandelion raised his head on its long stem. 
The Little Bird felt ashamed of himself. 
“I am very small,” he said. “But I can 
sing and make myself a cheerful thing.” 

A Little Child can do even more. 


53 





THE LITTLE OLD MAN 

In a country far away there lived an 
Old Fisherman. He had silver-gray hair 
and kind, brown eyes. His face had many 
wrinkles in it. Everybody loved this old 
man, still nobody knew his name. 

“Here comes the Little Old Man,” the 
children would cry, as they ran to meet him. 
And always the Old Fisherman would say, 
“How would you like a little present to¬ 
day?” 

Then he would take from his pocket curi¬ 
ous objects that he had drawn from the 
river, or made in his own little hut during 
the long evenings. And the children would 
dance about him and say, “Look what the 
Little Old Man gave me—and me—and 
me!” 

Sometimes it would be a poor person who 
would meet him instead of the children. 


54 


Then the Fisherman would draw something 
from his basket. 

“How would you like a little fish to-day?” 
he would whisper. 

The dogs learned to know him, too. If 
he saw one that was hungry and homeless 
he would always take it home with him. 
There he would pet it with his rough hands, 
saying, “How would you like a little bone 
to-day?” 

Even the birds knew about the Little Old 
Man. Every morning before he went to 
work he scattered oats and crumbs for 
them. And during his long walks in the 
woods, he would always follow their cries 
and help them out of their troubles. 

“Have a Little Old Man for a friend,” he 
would say to them. 

By and by the old King of that country 
died. After a time the people decided to 


55 



56 






















have a great festival and choose a new 
King. 

Even the children were gay and happy, 
planning for the great event. 

“You will come, Little Old Man,” they 
cried. “You will come, too, won’t you?” 

“Oh, no,” said the Little Old Man, smil¬ 
ing at them. “I have no good clothes to 
wear. I would not look well at a festival.” 

The children had not thought of that. 
They knew that their parents were plan¬ 
ning wonderful new costumes for the great 
occasion. Many of the children were to 
have new suits or dresses, too. But the 
Little Old Man had nothing new to wear 
and could not go to the festival. 

The children felt very sad. They drew 
together in groups and talked about it. 
Then they ran home and came back to talk 
together again. 


57 


“I will bring a fine white shirt,” whis¬ 
pered one. 

“I will bring a pair of silk trousers,” said 
another. 

“And I,” said a third, “will bring a purple 
coat!” 

When the rest of the children heard that, 
they clapped their hands and danced for 
glee. 

Now the brown wrens had heard the chil¬ 
dren talking. Soon they learned what it 
was about. Then they flew to the woods 
and told all the other birds. The Little Old 
Man could not go to the festival because 
he had nothing fine to wear! 

Oh, what a chattering there was! And 
presently, from far and near, the birds 
came bringing their treasures—nuts and 
berries, crystals and stones, tassels of wood 
and silken threads. 


58 


For days they worked and cleaned and 
polished. And then, when all was ready, 
the blue jays and the woodpeckers, who 
really had never been friendly before, got 
together and strung the birds’ offerings on 
long reeds and grasses. 

They made a necklace that was wonder¬ 
ful to behold. 

The day of the festival came at last. 

Early in the morning the Little Old Man, 
on his way to mend his nets, saw the people 
making their preparations. 

“It would be very nice to go,” he said 
a bit wistfully, as he came back for his 
humble breakfast. “But I must be content 
to sit at my door and watch the crowds 
go by.” 

He entered his little house—then started 
back in surprise. There on his cot lay a 
pair of crimson trousers and a fine white 


59 


shirt, a purple coat and a long, queer chain! 

“Bless them, bless them!” said the Little 
Old Man, with tears in his eyes, for of 
course he knew at once who had done this 
for him. 

He bathed in soft rain water and brushed 
and combed his gray hair. Then he put on 
all the fine things and went to the festival. 

It was late when he got there and things 
had not been going very well. Although 
it was a perfectly .beautiful festival, there 
had been much quarreling about who should 
be chosen King. The children alone were 
gloriously happy. They went about dancing 
and singing. 

When they saw the Little Old Man com¬ 
ing, they all clapped their hands and ran 
to meet him. The older people all stopped 
to see what it was the children were so 
happy about. 


60 


There stood the Little Old Man! His 
silver-gray hair gleamed in the sunlight. 
His purple coat and crimson trousers fitted 
as though they had been made for him. 
Around his neck lay the curious but beau¬ 
tiful chain. And his face wore a kindly 
smile. 

The people gave a great shout. 

“There he is! There is our King!” they 
cried and they all ran and threw themselves 
at his feet. 

But the Little Old Man shook his head. 

“Oh, no,” he said. “I am not a King. I 
am only a poor Fisherman. I do not know 
anything about a King’s work.” 

But the people would not listen. 

“A King’s work and a Fisherman’s are 
quite alike,” they said. “Both take a lot of 
patience.” 

“But I do not know anything about your 


61 


laws,” persisted the Old Man kindly. “The 
only law I know anything about is just plain 
loving.” 

“Loving is the highest law there is,” cried 
the people, and they all danced around him 
and would not let him go. 

So the Little Old Man became King and he 
was the best King that country had ever had. 

“We did it! We did it!” said the children. 
“It was the purple coat and the crimson 
trousers.” 

“We did it! We did it!” sang the birds. 
“It was the beautiful necklace that made him 
King.” 

“Foolish things!” said the wise old owl. 
“Nobody can make man King but man 
himself.” 


62 



POLLY’S BIRTHDAY ROSES 

Polly’s birthday was the sixteenth of 
April, just when the air was beginning to 
smell of spring. 

This year the sixteenth came on Saturday 
and Polly was to have a party. 


63 






























So that morning she flew around helping 
Mother dust and place bunches of pussy wil¬ 
lows about the room. Then she hunted out 
the merriest of the march tunes to be played 
on the piano in the afternoon. 

Little Peter swept the porches and prom¬ 
ised to get dressed all by himself, so that 
Mother could help with the birthday supper. 

At last it came time for Polly to put on 
her party dress and fun gaily downstairs. 
Her little guests came trooping in and Polly 
was surprised at all the pretty things which 
they brought her. Handkerchiefs and 
books, ribbons and games, and candy. 

But the thing that pleased her most was 
the beautiful white basket of pink roses 
which Bobby brought. If there was any¬ 
thing that Polly loved it was flowers, and 
she thought these the most beautiful roses 
she had ever seen. 


64 



That night after all the fun and the birth¬ 
day supper were over, the little basket of 
roses was placed on a table in Polly’s bed¬ 
room. 

And Polly fell asleep, still thinking of the 
pretty flowers and their sweet perfume, and 
how she loved them. 


65 









All of a sudden Polly heard some one 
say, “Here she is!” 

She wondered who it could be. Then a 
hundred little voices all around her were 
saying, “Here she is!” 

And as many little fairy forms were 
dancing all over her bed. 

Then one of the fairies leaned toward her 
and said, “Polly, you love flowers, and you 
love fairies. We want you with us always, 
but we can’t take a human into Fairyland, 
so we are going to change you into a flower. 
Then you can grow close beside us, and we 
shall all be happy together.” 

“Oh, make me a pink rose!” cried Polly. 

The fairies clapped their hands. 

“We will! We will!” they cried. 

“Oh, but I couldn’t go and leave Mother 
and all the rest,” said Polly, sadly. “Oh dear 
fairies, please take them, too.” 


66 


“All right,” the fairies said. “After all, 
they all believe in fairies, too, don’t they?” 

“Oh, yes,” said Polly eagerly. “And 
please make Mother into a rose, and plant 
her close beside me.” 

“We will,” the fairies declared. “She 
shall be a lovely white rose! And we will 
make your Daddy a blue larkspur because 
he’s so brave and true. And Peter—oh, 
what shall we make Peter?” 

“I know what to make Baby Brother,” 
said Polly. “A dandelion!” 

The fairies laughed and agreed so good- 
naturedly that Polly grew very bold indeed. 

“Dear fairies,” she said wistfully, 
“couldn’t I bring Jane?” 

Jane was Polly’s seat-mate at school and 
Polly loved her dearly. 

To her surprise the fairies only looked at 
her sadly. 


67 



“I am afraid,” said one at last, “that we 
couldn’t turn Jane into a flower. She’s not 
a very neat child. She doesn’t keep her 
hands clean and her thing's are never in 
order. No, we couldn’t change Jane into a 
flower. She will have to be—” 

“A weed,” cried several of the fairies to¬ 
gether. “Just a weed!” 

The tears sprang to Polly’s eyes. 

“Oh, poor Jane!” she cried. 


68 









She put up her hands to wipe away the 
tears. And when she opened her' eyes 
again, the fairies were all gone. 

“They were so sweet,” she said. “I must 
have driven them away by crying. I re¬ 
member now that fairies can’t bear to see 
anyone cry. Perhaps if I am very good, 
they will come back some time. And I will 
tell Jane so she can start being good right 
away.” 

She did tell Jane the very next day, but 
naughty Jane only laughed at her. 

“Why, Polly,” she cried, “that is perfectly 
silly!” 

But Polly noticed that at recess Jane 
slipped away and washed her hands. And 
her fingers that afternoon were as neat as 
could be. 

“Just the same,” thought little Polly, “I 
guess Jane doesn’t want to be a weed.” 


69 



BOBBY AND THE COMING-HOME 
TRAIN 


Bobby was going to the circus. He was 
going to see the elephants and the Indians 
and all the rest of the wonderful things that 
he had heard the other children talk about. 

“It will be a party just for you and me this 
time, Bobby,” said Aunt Margaret. “We 
will go together and have a good time.” 


70 







“And not Mother?” asked Bobby, look¬ 
ing up. 

“I have so much sewing to do.” His 
Mother smiled at him. “It will be an all-day 
trip you know. You will have to ride on a 
train, Bobby, all the way to the big city.” 

“On a real choo-choo car?” Bobby began 
to think it was going to be a party. He had 
never ridden on a train, but he had often 
watched one creep over the hill just beyond 
his home. 

Sometimes, when they were out riding in 
their automobile, his Father would stop at 
the crossings to let the big cars go by. 

Bobby had not realized how big these cars 
really were until he started off for the cir¬ 
cus, with Aunt Margaret. 

When the engine came roaring into the 
station like a great giant, he felt afraid. 
But when they were safely on the train and 


71 


Bobby was sitting on the wide, comfortable 
seat, looking out of the window, he began 
to enjoy it all very much. 

How the trees and houses went hopping 
by! 

And what a nice song the old engine 
puffed out as it went along. It seemed to 
Bobby to say: 

“Choo—choo—choo-choo, choo—choo, 
Here I come, little boy for you! 

I’ll ride you fast, I’ll ride you far, 

All in my nice choo-choo car.” 

It didn’t seem long to Bobby before they 
were in the big city and at the circus, watch¬ 
ing the clowns and the trick riders and the 
animals. 

There was so much to see! Bobby just 
kept his eyes on the big stage. He was 
afraid he would miss some of the fun. 


72 





73 























But he was only six years old and little 
boys six years old get tired, you know. So, 
before the great show was ended, Bobby’s 
eyes began to droop. 

The next thing he remembered was Aunt 
Margaret shaking him and saying, “Wake 
up, Bobby dear, you’ve had a nice nap, but 
it is time now to go home.” 

Bobby opened his eyes. There was a 
great crowd of people about him, all trying 
to get out and go home. The little boy held 
close to Aunt Margaret until they were out 
on the street again. 

It was beginning to get dark. Bobby felt 
lonely and far away from home. He wished 
his Mother had come along. 

“I—I hope the train won’t go without us,” 
he said. 

“Oh, it won’t, Bobby. It will be there 
waiting for us,” Aunt Margaret told him. 


74 



And sure enough it was waiting, with 
the engine puffing and the cars all brightly 
lighted. 

“The coming-home train!” Bobby cried. 

Bobby was glad to see it. He was glad 
when it began to pull away. He knew it 
was going to take him straight home to his 
Mother. It seemed to say to him now: 


75 






“Choo-choo, choo-choo, choo-choo, 

Here I come again for you! 

No matter where, little boy, you roam, 
The choo-choo train will bring you home.” 

When they arrived at their own little 
town, there was Bobby’s Mother waiting 
for them. 

“Did you have a fine time?” asked his 
Mother, hugging him close. “And did you 
•like it all? Did you like the train?” 

“Yes!” said Bobby. “Oh, yes, I did. But 
I liked the Coming-Home Train the best.” 


76 



THE LOST SONG 

A Little Song fell out of a cloud at eve¬ 
ning time. It was a low, simple little song, 
but very sweet, for it was filled with all the 
beauty of the sunset. 

Now, as it floated through the air, the Lit¬ 
tle Song felt frightened. 

“I hope some one will catch me and love 


77 





















me,” it thought. “I hope I shall soon find a 
home.” 

But the town into which the Song fell was 
a very busy one. All night the bright lights 
flashed, people shouted, automobiles rushed 
by. 

Then in the daytime the noise of work 
drowned out the Little Song. 

Hour after hour it floated softly by and 
no one heard it except a Sparrow that sat on 
the edge of a roof nearby. 

“How beautiful you are,” said the Spar¬ 
row. “I wish I had a voice so that I could 
follow you. But I have a pair of strong 
wings. Will you come away with me?” 

He took the Song to the country-side. 
There in a daisy field stood a Little Boy. 
When the Little Boy heard the Song he 
smiled and held out his arms, and the Little 
Song crept straight into his heart. 


78 



Presently the Little Boy began to sing. 
Back into the town he ran, singing through 
the streets—singing, singing, singing the 
Little Song. 

Up in an attic, poor and weary, an old 
musician was sitting alone and sad. Then 
he heard the child in the street below, sing¬ 
ing the Little Song. 


79 












“Dear Heaven, how beautiful!” cried the 
old man. He listened for a long while and 
then went to his piano and played the Song. 

“At last, after all these years, I have 
caught it,” he said. “It is the most beauti¬ 
ful Song that anyone has ever heard.” 

Through many days and nights he played 
it. And all the people said, “Listen! it is the 
Song that has made him great.” 

Years after, when the old musician had 
died, some singers sang his Song before a 
King and Queen. Many, many people 
listened. And what they heard was the Lit¬ 
tle Song lost from the cloud. 

Suddenly all their voices were raised in a 
great chorus. Louder and louder it grew. 
Up into the sunset sky it rose, until there 
was only an echo. 

The Little Song had found its way back 
home. 


80 



PEGGY AND THE LOLLIPOP MAN 

Little Peggy looked anxiously at the table 
to see what she was going to have for sup¬ 
per. She was tired and hungry from her 
long walk from school. 

All the way home she had been thinking 
what she would like to have for supper. She 
wanted some fine wheat bread and jelly, a 
bit of chicken and a big piece of frosted 


81 

















cake. Not the brown bread and milk and 
baked apple that she often had. 

Peggy looked at the table. Oh, there it 
was, the brown bread and milk again! 
Tears sprang to the little girl’s eyes. 

When her Mother came in, Peggy was 
sitting at her place with a dreadful frown 
on her face. She was crumbling the brown 
bread that she did not like into bits. 

“Why, what is the matter?” asked her 
Mother. 

“I hate this brown bread,” cried Peggy, 
breaking into sobs. “I don’t see why I can’t 
have nice things for supper, like other chil¬ 
dren do.” 

“My dear child, rich food is not good for 
you, and I couldn’t buy it for you if it were,” 
said her Mother. 

“I can’t eat brown bread. I won’t eat it!” 
cried Peggy. 


82 


Then she ran upstairs and threw herself 
on her little bed. 

“I can’t, I can’t,” she cried again, burying 
her little nose in the pillows. 

“Can’t what?” said a voice. It was a 
happy little voice and Peggy heard it. 

She drew her head out from the pillows 
and looked around. Her eyes burned from 
crying, but surely she saw a tiny figure 
standing on the edge of her bed. 

Peggy turned over to look at him and 
then she suddenly laughed aloud. 

Why, he looked just like a nice, big lolli¬ 
pop! His arms were strangely jointed and 
his eyes twinkled out from the lollipop head. 
But they looked kind as the Little Man said 
again: 

“Can’t what?” 

“Oh,” said Peggy, “I can’t eat brown 
bread.” 


83 



“Then what do you do it for?” asked the 
Little Man. 

“There is never anything- else to eat,” re¬ 
plied Peg-gy, sorrowfully. 

“Nonsense!” laughed the Lollipop Man. 
“Why, in Sweetmore Land where I live we 
never have the horrid stuff. We have much 
better things to eat. 


84 








“Why don’t you come and see how you 
would like it there?” 

“Dear me, I wish I could,” said Peggy, sit¬ 
ting up in bed. “But my Mother wouldn’t 
let me. It must be very far away, isn’t it?” 

“Far away! not at all!” laughed the 
Lollipop Man. “Why, you can get there in 
a twinkling. Just raise your arms like this 
and say: 

‘Twinklety, twinklety-eye, 

To Sweetmore Land let me fly.’ ” 

“Oh, I believe I will try it!” cried Peggy. 
“Will you come too, Sir—Sir Lollipop?” 

“To be sure, I was just going,” said the 
Little Man. 

So together they raised their arms and 
repeated the magic rhyme. 

Peggy felt a light fluttering and the bed 
seemed to slip away from her. She seemed 


85 


to be moving along quickly, now high, now 
low, with the Little Man close beside her. 

Presently she felt herself going down 
rapidly and the Lollipop Man said, “We’re 
there.” 

Peggy put down her arms and looked 
about her. Such a queer, but jolly little 
country! The air was heavy, like the air 
of spring-time when it is fragrant with blos¬ 
soms. And there were a great many tiny 
people about. 

“Come on, Peggy,” said the Lollipop Man. 
“Let us go to Angel Cake Hill first—you 
will like that.” 

Peggy hurried after him and soon they 
came to a beautiful, snowy mountain. Do¬ 
ing as the Lollipop Man had done, she broke 
off a large piece of cake and ate it. 

“My, how good!” exclaimed the Little 
Girl. “But doesn’t it get eaten away?” 


86 



“Well,” said the Lollipop Man politely, 
“we don’t take such big mouthfuls, but you 
are company. Perhaps you’d like to visit 
Fudge Knob. We will find a crowd of peo¬ 
ple there, you may be sure.” 

Peggy clapped her hands. She did like 
chocolate candy. And all the little folks at 
Fudge Knob were interested in her story. 


87 







The Lollipop Man and the other new 
friends in this queer place all sat around 
and listened with wide open eyes. 

Then they brought her all kinds of sweet 
things, until the Little Girl felt that she was 
having a most delightful time. 

After a while, however, she felt that for 
once she had had quite enough goodies. 

She slipped away by herself and lay down 
under a caramel tree a short distance away. 


88 










There was a strange feeling in her stomach. 
Somehow it was a feeling that she had had 
too much to eat, and yet hadn’t had any¬ 
thing at all. 

“Why,” she said out loud, “this is queer. 
I don’t understand it at all. But I believe 
I do want just a piece of good old brown 
bread.” 

“What!” said somebody. “What!” 

Peggy looked behind her. The plain Lit¬ 
tle Man who stood there would have sur¬ 
prised her once, but now she only smiled at 
him in a friendly way. 

“Don’t tell anyone that I am here,” she 
said. “I can’t go back and eat any more of 
what they would give me. It is very inter¬ 
esting, but I am tired of all their sweet 
things and I do believe I want to go home.” 

“That is the best way to get home, then,” 
said the plain Little Man kindly. “Just by 


89 


being tired of it. All you have to do, you 
know, is to say: 

‘Diverty, diverty, dome, 

I’m tired of this and I want to go home.’ ” 

“Oh, thank you very much!” said Peggy. 
“Do say good-by to all of them and tell them 
I wanted to see my Mother.” 

She raised her arms above her head and 
repeated the magic words: 

“Diverty, diverty, dome, 

I’m tired of this and I want to go home.” 

Before she knew it she was off and away 
out of the Little Man’s sight. 

“My dear,” said Peggy’s Mother, “I think 
you would better wake up and eat some¬ 
thing and then go to bed properly.” 

Peggy looked up to see her Mother stand¬ 
ing beside her bed. 


90 


“Oh, Mother,” she said. “I got here 
quickly, didn’t I?” 

“Got here? What do you mean?” said 
her Mother. 

Peggy laughed. 

“It’s very funny,” she said. “Wait until I 
eat a piece of brown bread and I will tell you 
all about it.” 


91 


\ 







1 . .. . 

s. 

\ 

\ 

Y 




ills® 


- • .V •; • C- • ■ *.* •. <v* • • • '•« 


Lillis® 

s@I&3£gp|& 

*»1SI 


i 

i 


• I 


11 




} 

’ , J 


in 

w 




y{\ 


,i , ' ^ 

ilMi 


,riy J •: V;'. : ; ; .-'. : : '.V.'-Ai: • ■ 

' 






11S«11 




f 


bWI 

mm 


•:• . 

A 








\m 

» 

&•$%!!£?$& 




a* 




1 . .. . .: 

s. 

\ 

\ 

Y 




ills® 




Lillis® 

s@I&3£gp|& 

*»1SI 


92 



























FAR-AWAY AND LONG-AGO 


A Boy was walking along the road. He 
met many people, for the road was long and 
he walked far. 

“Where are you going?” some of them 
asked. 

“I am going to find the Land of Far- 
Away,” he answered. “I have heard about 
it a great many times and I think it must 
be a wonderful place.” 

“Well, perhaps so,” said the People. “We 
are too busy to go and see. We wish you 
luck, Boy.” 

“Thank you,” said the Boy politely, and 
trudged on his way. 

A short distance ahead, the Boy saw An¬ 
other Boy walking along the road. He ran 
to overtake him. 

“Where are you going?” he asked this 
new Friend. 


93 


“I am going to find the Land of Long- 
Ago. I have read about it in my story 
books. It must be a fine place.” 

“That is strange,” laughed the First Boy. 
“I am hunting for the Land of Far-Away. 
Long-Ago is near it somewhere, I am sure, 
for don’t you remember, the books always 
say, ‘Long, Long Ago in a Land Far Away’? 
Suppose we travel together.” 

“With pleasure,” answered the Second 
Boy. So on they went. 

They traveled many a mile. Sometimes 
they walked and sometimes they ran. 
Sometimes they laughed and sang. And to 
every one they met they would say, “Please, 
is this the Land of Far-Away and Long- 
Ago?” 

But the People always said, “Oh, no, in¬ 
deed!” 

Just as the sun was going down, the boys 


94 



came to the edge of the great, wide sea. 

“Oh, look! How wonderful!” they cried. 
“This surely is it!” 

“Don’t you remember there were always 
ships and fishermen’s houses?” said one. 

“And great homes on a hill,” said his 
companion, pointing just beyond them. 


95 











“I am hungry,” said the First Boy. 

“So am I, and tired, too,” said the other. 
“Let us go to the nearest house and rest.” 

They knocked at the door. A kind-faced 
woman opened it. She smiled when she saw 
the children. 

“Come in,” she said. “Supper is just 
ready.” 

“What are you going to have?” asked the 
boys. 


96 














“Hot soup,” said the woman. “And bread 
and butter and baked apples.” 

“And may we sleep here too?” they asked. 

“Yes, indeed! Right in here with my lit¬ 
tle boys and girls.” 

The two boys looked at the little white 
beds. They looked at the kind-faced woman. 
And they looked at the supper on the table. 

“Why!” they cried together. “Isn’t that 
queer! Far-Away and Long-Ago are just 
like Here and Now!” 

Far-Away and Long-Ago 

Oh, Far-Away and Long-Ago 
Are wonderful, you know, 

When you sit in your little bed 
And think about them so. 

The pictures in your story books 
Look out so gay and fair. 


97 


“Oh, deary me,” you cry, “I wish 
That I lived ‘then and there.’ ” 

But when your mother dear comes in 
To hug 1 and kiss you twice 
And tuck you in, you say, “Well, Here 
And Now are pretty nice.” 


98 



THE BEST GIFT 

“Mother,” said Peter, crossly, “I wish you 
.would make Baby Brother be good. How 
can I build this bridge, when he is pulling 
away my blocks all the time?” 

Peter turned to look at his Mother. 

“I don’t see how you can,” said his 


99 



Mother, as she smoothed out the stockings 
she had been mending. 

“Well, then, please make him be good.” 

“I will try to,” said Mother, smiling. “It 
just reminds me, though, of a story about a 
King. Perhaps you would like to hear it.” 

“Oh, yes,” said Peter, who was always 
ready to hear a story. 

He came closer and Mother began: 

The Story of the Best Gift 

Once upon a time there was a great King. 
He was a very good King, but the people 
over whom he ruled were not always good. 
Although the King had wonderful schools 
and churches built for them and beautiful 
parks made for their pleasure, the people 
often did wicked thihgs. 

At last the King called his three sons to 
him. 


100 


“My sons,” he said, “I am getting 1 old. I 
wish before I die to see my people become 
good and loving and kind to each other. 

“I have, therefore, taken the wealth of 
half my kingdom and put it into these three 
purses. Take you each one, and go and 
seek in far-away countries and the magic 
lands of the East for some gift that may 
help my misguided people.” 

The young princes, who dearly loved their 
father, took the purses. Falling upon their 
knees, they promised to do as he asked. 

At the end of a year they returned, each 
bearing a gift that was to work a wonder 
for the old King. 

The Eldest spoke first. 

“My father,” he said, “I have brought you 
a magic stick. Bring to me our most 
wicked subject and I will show you how, 
with a few strokes, it can beat him into 


101 



obedience. The king - from whom I bought 
it did not wish to let go of it. For, as he 
said, his subjects were so afraid of the stick 
they were obedient to his every law.” 

The old King smiled, but he shook his 
head. 

“Oh, my son,” he said, “it is indeed a 
mighty weapon. But fear cannot change 
the hearts of men.” 

Then the Second Son stepped forward. 


102 




and from its wrappings of purple velvet he 
drew a book. 

“I have brought, dear father, the most 
marvelous book ever given to humans. 
Within its pages are written secrets of un¬ 
told wealth, of good health and glowing 
fame.” 

He laid the beautiful volume in his 


103 






father’s hands. But the King closed it 
sadly. 

“My son,” said the King, “I am an old 
man. Often have I seen riches and youth 
and glory breed selfishness in the hearts of 
men.” 

He turned to his Youngest Son, who stood 
awaiting his turn. 

“I, my father,” said the Young Prince, 
“bring my gift from the fairest land ever 
found. 

“Its people are of rare virtue and kind¬ 
ness. This has been born, they told me, 
from the songs of an enchanted harp which 
they possessed. 

“The harp belonged to a young maiden 
who had received it from her godmother. It 
has been said for years that whenever the 
harp was played, the wicked feelings of the 
people had passed away. Then their hearts 


104 



were filled only with love and thoughts of 
beautiful things. Its music inspires those 
who hear it to better things. 

“When they heard of our need, they sent 
the enchanted harp to you. With the gold 
I gave them they will build gardens for 
their poor.” 

The face of the old King shone with joy. 


105 











He stretched out his hands eagerly for 
the golden harp. 

“Now, indeed, my sons,” he said, “have I 
the gift I sought. It is only when men are 
at peace and happy that they are truly 
good.” 

Mother stopped speaking and smiled at 
Peter, who smiled back. 

“I know,” he said. “We have something 
like that at school in one of our books. It 
says, ‘Make one person good—yourself— 
make other people happy.’ m 

There was a little noise from the corner. 
Baby Brother had dragged a few blocks 
over there and was building a bridge of his 
own. 

Peter laughed. “It’s all right, Baby,” he 
said. “Just so you’re happy.” 

1 Robert Louis Stevenson. 


106 



THE STORY OF MORNING-GLORY 


Long, long ago, when the world was 
young, a kind Spirit was sent down to take 
care of the birds and flowers. She told the 
birds how to build their nests and the 
flowers what colored dresses to put on. In 
the evening she came and put them all 
to sleep. 

Now, in the garden, climbing along the 
wall, there was a pretty bell-shaped Flower 
that never wanted to go to sleep when the 
other flowers did. 

“I would like to see,” she said to the kind 
Spirit, “what this night time that you talk 
about looks like.” 

“It doesn’t look—at least not much,” the 
Spirit told her. “It’s mostly still and dark. 
It is the time for all things to rest. So close 
your pretty eyes and be a good flower.” 

The Flower shut her blue eyes obediently. 


107 


But she did not go to sleep. The sun went 
down and the birds stopped singing. Still 
the little Flower did not sleep. 

She heard curious noises and she felt 
something soft brush by her in the dark. 
Presently she opened her eyes and peered 
about. 

How wonderful was this night time that 
she had never seen! Nothing to see or hear, 
indeed! Why, she had never in the daylight 
seen such wonderful sights or heard such 
delightful sounds! 

Until nearly daybreak that naughty blue 
Flower climbed the wall and looked and 
listened. When at last she fell asleep, she 
slept so soundly that she forgot to wake up 
in the morning when the other flowers did. 

When the kind Spirit came to the garden 
the next morning, the blue Flower was still 
asleep. The other flowers were all wide 


108 





if i 




SlpSltfl 

teifsiii 




s^^sS&s^*: 


3»S«i 

» 






tn>< 


109 




































awake. They were washing their faces in 
the dew. Then they swayed gaily to and 
fro. But still, against her soft leaves on 
the wall, their little sister slept. 

“This is very strange/’ said the Spirit. 
She woke the Flower up and asked her 
about it. 

“Oh dear, sweet, kind, beautiful Spirit,” 
said the little Flower, “please let me sleep 
all day and stay awake all night. I would 
like it so much better—truly I would.” 

And she told the Spirit how her eyes just 
wouldn’t stay shut the night before and of 
what she had seen and heard. 

“There was a soft thing with wings that 
kept brushing against me and wouldn’t let 
me go to sleep.” 

“That was the big night moth,” said the 
Spirit. She smiled as she looked at the 
eager face of the blue Flower. 


no 


“And there were twinkling lights that 
fluttered about,” said the Flower. 

“They were the fireflies.” 

“And all about there was singing—such 
jolly little songs!” 

“Tree toads, perhaps, little Flower.” 

“And up in the sky, sweet Spirit, were 
little goldy things that winked their eyes.” 

“Dear child! Those were the stars!” 

“I love them,” said the little Flower sim¬ 
ply. “I love them all. I like them better 
than the day things. Please let me stay 
awake to see them.” 

“I couldn’t do that, little blossom,” the 
Spirit said kindly. “You could not sleep in 
the daytime with the sunbeams dancing 
about you and the birds singing around you. 
Besides, you need the morning sunshine to 
help grow your vine and keep your pretty 
blue color. 


111 


“But I’ll tell you what I will do. If you 
will promise to go to sleep earlier in the 
afternoon, I will waken you early in the 
morning, when I come to scatter the dew 
and help the spiders with their webs. Some¬ 
times the stays are still out and always there 
are wonderful things to be seen. Will that 
do, little Flower?” 

“Yes. And I will try never to be disobe¬ 
dient again,” said the blue Flower. 

That is why, when you go out very early 
in the morning, you see the flower climbing 
the wall, wide awake. 

“See the Morning-Glory,” the elder peo¬ 
ple will say. “Look how pretty it is now! 
Isn’t it queer that in the afternoon it always 
goes to sleep!” 

But now that we know its story, it isn’t 
so queer after all. Is it? 


112 



LITTLE BLACK DOG 
A Little Black Dog sat on the corner and 
shivered. 

The day before a passing automobile had 
stopped and some one had opened the door 
of the car and hastily dropped Little Black 
Dog out. Little Dog sat there, hoping that 
the car might come back and take him home. 


113 




The car didn’t come back and Little Dog 
waited, hungry and cold. 

Oh! but it was cold! It grew so cold at 
last that every once in a while Little Dog 
had to get up and run down the street to 
keep from freezing. But he always came 
back to the corner and there he sat waiting. 

Women came by with market baskets, 
boys and girls hurried past with skates 
slung over their shoulders. At last, scamper¬ 
ing home from school, around the corner, 
came Little Boy. 

Little Boy stopped and looked at Little 
Black Dog. 

Little Dog looked up and his eyes, between 
his long, drooping ears, were big and brown 
and sad. 

“Whose dog are you?” asked Little Boy, 
leaning down to feel for a collar. 

But there was no collar. 


114 


Little Boy’s hand stayed on Little Dog’s 
head. He stroked it softly. 

Thump, thump, thump, went Little Dog’s 
tail on the pavement. 

“Oh dear,” said Little Boy to himself. 

He got up and walked away slowly. In a 
minute he looked back. 

Little Black Dog was following him. 

Little Boy started to run. Little Dog ran 
too. By the time Little Boy reached home 
Little Dog was there too. 

Thump, thump, thump! 

“Mother!” shouted Little Boy. “Look 
what I found!” 

“0 Little Boy, that is somebody’s dog! 
You mustn’t teach dogs to follow you,” said 
Mother. 

“He hasn’t any collar, Mother, and I 
didn’t teach him—he just came. I don’t be¬ 
lieve he has any home. He’s lost.” 


115 


“Well, you’d better come in now, dear. 
It’s cold,” said Mother. 

“He’s cold, too, Mother. He’s shivering! 
Let me bring him in—just till he gets warm.” 

“Now, Little Boy,” said Mother firmly, 
“you know if you bring him in, he will expect 
to stay. Besides he’s dirty and likely full of 
germs and—” 

“I’ll wash him, Mother. I haven’t any les¬ 
sons to get. He wants to come. Oh, look at 
him! Hasn’t he the cunningest face!” 
Thump, thump, thump! 

“Well,” said Mother slowly, “you might 
bring him in and give him some water. 
Everything’s frozen; he may need a drink.” 
“And a cracker,” begged Little Boy. 
“Well, a cracker, then.” 

Little Black Dog was on the doorstep. 
When Little Boy held open the door, in he 
came. Oh, how warm it was inside! 


116 


Thump, thump, thump! 

“He is a cunning thing,” said Mother. 

A few minutes later she glanced out into 
the kitchen. Little Boy sat on the floor be¬ 
side Little Black Dog. He was feeding the 
dog crackers with one hand and the other 
hand was patting the dog’s head. 

“I’ve always wanted a little black dog like 
this. Couldn’t I keep him just to-night and 
see if anybody advertises for him?” 

“But he’s so dirty, Little Boy.” 

“I’ll wash him. He’ll like it the way I’ll do 
it, Mother, with warm water and I won’t get 
soap in his eyes! Please, Mother!” 

Thump, thump, thump! 

“Well—” began Mother. 

Little Boy had Little Black Dog already in 
his arms and was carrying him to the base¬ 
ment. There was a sound of running water 
and a voice talking softly, lovingly. Then 


117 


there was a sound of scrubbing and splash¬ 
ing and then a quick exclamation. 

“Mother! Mother! come here!” 

Mother ran to the basement stairs. 

“Mother! he isn’t black at all—he’s 
white!” shouted Little Boy. 

How Mother laughed! She ran down with 
towels. And sure enough—out from his 
bath came Little Dog, white as could be, 
except for silky black ears and a spot on his 
back. 

“It’s lucky you washed him,” laughed 
Mother, “before you looked in the adver¬ 
tisements to-night. You would have looked 
only for: ‘Lost—A Little Black Dog’!” 

That evening when the paper came, Little 
Boy and Little Dog, sitting close together 
on the floor, looked it over fearfully. There 
was nothing in it about a little lost dog. 

“There isn’t any!” sang Little Boy. 


118 



“We’ll see Daddy about it,” said Mother. 

Daddy said just two things. 

“Picked up a dog, did you? Come here, 
sir, let’s look at you.” Little Dog came. 

Daddy pulled his ears; he lifted his head. 

“That’s a good dog, that is! Keep him— 
every boy ought to have a dog.” 

Little Boy leaned down. He could not 
speak, he could hardly breathe—he could 
only pat, pat, pat. 

“Thump, thump, thump!” answered Little 
Black Dog. 


119 






THE BLUE RABBIT 


Once upon a time there was a Blue Rab¬ 
bit. No one knew how he happened to be a 
blue rabbit. It might have been because he 
was an Easter rabbit. It might have been 
because Mother Nature was hurried. 

Mother Nature wished to have an early 
spring that year. Just as she thought every¬ 
thing ready, Mother Nature found she had 
her colors mixed up. The blue sky was red, 
the green meadow yellow, and a brown rab¬ 
bit blue. 

There he was, pink-nosed and perky, sit¬ 
ting under the sycamore tree, a Blue Rabbit. 

His mother was delighted. She thought 
he was the prettiest child she had ever had. 
All the other little bunnies took one look 
at him and then went home to their mothers 
and wept quarts and quarts of tears because 
they were such a common color. 


120 


But Blue Rabbit was an agreeable little 
fellow. He rubbed noses with the other baby 
bunnies in such a friendly manner that 
presently they forgot that they were brown 
and he was blue. 

Day after day these bunnies would dart 
through the woods together. They would 
nibble at the grass and the berries. They 
would sniff the fragrant green growing 
things. And they would lay back their long 
ears to listen to all that was being said in 
the woods about them. 

When the sun dropped behind the trees, 
all the bunnies would hop back to the 
hollow under the blackberry bushes. Here 
lived Granny Long-Ears, who told them 
stories that only the older rabbits knew. 
And every night before she sent them home 
to bed, Granny ended her stories with this 
little rhyme: 


121 


“Every little rabbit must look 
where he runs, 

And you’d better get to cover 
when the hunt man comes.” 

When she said “the hunt man,” all the 
little bunnies shivered, and the Blue Rabbit, 
in a corner of his own, shivered most of all. 

“Granny,” he asked at last one evening, 
“what about a blue rabbit? Leaves and 
trees and grass are all right to hide brown 
bunnies, but what about a blue bunny?” 

“Goodness me, child, that’s so,” said 
Granny Long-Ears. “I declare I never once 
thought of that! Dear me, dear me!” 

All the other little rabbits looked very 
solemn. They began to think it wasn’t so 
fine after all to be a blue rabbit. 

“Listen,” whispered one of the brown 
rabbits. “Yesterday some children came 
into the woods and I heard one of them say, 


122 



‘Wouldn’t it be fun if we could find a rabbit 
or something 1 to take home with us?’ I just 
know if they ever had a glimpse of a blue 
rabbit, they’d never give up until they had 
caught it.” 

“O-o-oh! Whatever shall I do?” cried poor 
little Blue Rabbit. “Can’t some one think of 
a way to help me?” 


123 








“You might try rolling on the ground,” 
said one little cousin. “You could roll and 
roll and roll until you were dirt color.” So 
the very next morning Blue Rabbit started 
rolling. He rolled and he rolled and he 
rolled. But, as fast as he rolled the dirt in 
on one side, just so fast did it roll off the 
other. 

“That won’t do! Won’t do! Won’t do!” 
cried all the little rabbits who were sitting 
around in a circle watching him. 

Blue Rabbit shook himself sadly. And he 
sniffed the air with his little nose in a most 
discouraged fashion. 

“Perhaps if you sat out in the field in the 
hot sun it might brown you,” said Humpty 
Dee, who was Blue Rabbit’s best friend. 
“Yes, I believe it would,” he added. 

So out to the open field went the poor 
blue bunny. He sat under the hot summer 


124 


sun all day long, but when he came back to 
the wood that night he was as blue as ever. 

It was then that Granny Long-Ears said 
the most amazing thing. 

“I don’t believe you’re an earth rabbit at 
all!” she said. “I believe you’re a sky rab¬ 
bit! Look up there! If that isn’t your 
natural color, I’d like to know it.” 

She pointed to the deep blue sky, above 
the clouds lying low in the west. “Some¬ 
body has made a mistake, that’s all. Now 
the thing is to get Blue Rabbit back where 
he belongs. But how?” 

“I don’t want Blue Rabbit to go away,” 
said Humpty Dee. 

“What do you want then, child?” Granny 
Long-Ears asked, severely. “Do you want 
some old hunter man to come along and 
shoot Blue Rabbit dead—bing-bang! just 
like that?” 


125 


“No, no!” sobbed Humpty Dee. 

“Then you just run along, all of you,” said 
Granny Long-Ears, “and make it known 
that Blue Rabbit is to go back to the sky.” 

It didn’t take long to spread news in the 
wood. Soon all the bees were buzzing it, 
and all the birds were chirping it, and all 
the squirrels were chattering it. But none 
of them could see how it was to be done. 
Here was a blue rabbit and there a blue sky, 
but how could they be brought together? 

“One of those queer things called air¬ 
planes might take him up,” said Wise Owl, 
blinking out from her hole in the tree. “I 
often see those fliers shooting clear beyond 
the clouds when you rabbits think I’m not 
seeing anything. But the trouble is, they 
never stop long enough to let any one out 
up there. They just shoot right back to 
earth in a hurry.” 


126 


“I wonder,” trilled Wood Thrush happily. 
“Don’t you suppose Mr. Hawk would do it? 
Let us ask him.” 

But Mr. Hawk, who never was very pleas¬ 
ant, was quite peevish about this. 

“You really expect too much of me,” he 
said. “It isn’t fair. You know there isn’t a 
bird alive who ever yet has reached those 
distant skies.” 

“Of course not, of course not,” all the lit¬ 
tle animals agreed quickly, for they did not 
wish to have Mr. Hawk displeased with 
them. 

“Of course what! of course nothing!” 
teased a merry voice. And East Wind came 
billowing toward them. He had found out 
from the squirrels what all the trouble was 
about. 

“Why didn’t you call me before?” he said. 
“I can take care of Blue Rabbit. Wait! I 


127 


shall be back soon.” Then away he whisked 
himself. 

In less time than it takes to tell it he was 
back again. On either side of him were 
North Wind and South Wind. They caught 
Blue Rabbit up in a swaying cradle of air 
and carried him higher and higher and 
higher. They swung him at last, gently and 
safely, right into the soft, low clouds of the 
sunset. 


128 


BLUE RABBIT IN SKY LAND 

Blue Rabbit hardly knew what had hap¬ 
pened to him. He sat quite still on his 
haunches, looking about him. 

“Dear, dear!” he said at last. “I would 
better get away from here, or before I 
know it I may turn to a brand new color. 
It’s bad enough to be a blue rabbit, but 
think of being a pink or an orange rabbit!” 
He shivered at the thought. 

Blue Rabbit almost flew across the soft 
blue meadows of the heavens. How cool and 
wide and safe it seemed! The little rabbit 
felt happy and unafraid, but he was very 
tired after his swift journey. He sat down 
to rest, but soon was fast asleep within the 
folds of a downy blue sky. 

When he awoke the sun fairies were 
dancing all about him. 

“Who are you? Who are you?” they cried. 


129 


Blue Rabbit told them. 

“Oh, how sweet, how sweet!” sang the 
gay little voices. “We will take care of you. 
We will like you. You will be our little 
brother.” 

Still dancing, the sun fairies bent and 
kissed Blue Rabbit. He stretched himself to 
follow them, but they were already away, 
gliding down a pretty sunbeam. 

“Oh yum, how did you come?” drawled 
a laughing voice near by, and the rabbit 
looked up to see the jolly face of the Man 
in the Moon. 

“Oh yum, how did you come?” he asked 
again. 

Blue Rabbit told his story once again. 

“Hm! afraid, were you? Hm! well, it isn’t 
good to be afraid—not good at all. Every¬ 
body is afraid of something down there on 
earth, aren’t they? Afraid it’s going to rain! 


130 


Afraid it’s not going to rain! Afraid they’ll 
catch something! Afraid something will 
catch them! 

“Hm! well, run along, little one. Noth¬ 
ing’s going to harm you up here. There are 
no hunters here except Orion and he’s quite 
harmless nowadays. 

“Oh yum! I’m so glum, 

Sailing around all night; 

Think I’d better take a nap 
Before my eyes grow tight.” 

Blue Rabbit laughed. He thought the 
Man in the Moon a funny fellow. But the 
Man in the Moon seemed so sleepy that the 
polite little bunny thought he would better 
leave him. He hopped out into the blue 
meadows. All day long he ran about, seeing 
many things that were new to him. 

Sometimes he stopped to play with the 
gentle lambkins who lived on the sloping 


131 



cloud hills. Hopping merrily down a hill, 
one day, he almost ran into a mighty figure 
that stood looking at him in astonishment. 
It was Orion, the great hunter, with his dog 
Sirius. 

The little bunny was scared. He scurried 
backward and sideways, looking for a place 


132 








to hide. But the hunter called to him in a 
friendly voice. 

“Come back! we will not hurt you. I do 
not kill anything any more. I have learned 
better up here. Come back! we like you, 
Sirius and I. We will tell you stories.” 

Blue Rabbit came back. He had noticed 
that the lambs were not at all afraid of the 
hunter or his dog, and he was already miss¬ 
ing Granny Long-Ears’ fine stories. 

Granny had never told stories so wonder¬ 
ful as Orion had to tell! The little rabbit sat 
with his ears laid back wide and listened, 
as Orion told one story after another. The 
great hunter was just finishing the tale of 
The Biggest Dragon when— 

“What! what! what!” exclaimed a hun¬ 
dred little voices close by. 

The hunter stopped to smile. 

“It’s those raindrops again!” he said. 


133 


“You never can tell when they’re going to 
arrive.” 

“On with your story, Orion, please,” 
laughed the raindrops, settling themselves 
near Blue Rabbit and trying to sit still. 

“Now, we’ll tell one,” they tinkled in a 
chorus, as Orion finished. 

“One? You mean you’ll tell a dozen!” said 
Orion. Then turning to Blue Rabbit, he 
added, “They’re dreadful chatter-boxes. 
They begin, as soon as they get here, to tell 
us stories about the earth. And as soon as 
they go back, they begin to tell the earth 
people stories about the sky.” 

“So we do,” said the raindrops. “We’ll tell 
you a story about the ocean, Blue Rabbit.” 

“No, about the big river!” said one rain¬ 
drop. 

“No, about the little brook!” cried an¬ 
other. 


134 


“You’ll tell about nothing at all,” cried 
the sun fairies, coming up and tumbling 
into the midst of the raindrops. “No more 
stories now. A good run is what you need.” 

The sun fairies chased the raindrops 
across the sky. But not for long. In turn, 
the raindrops chased the sun fairies back 
again. And people down on the earth said, 
“Oh, what queer weather we are having! 
One minute it looks like rain and the next 
minute the sun is shining. What queer 
weather!” 

Blue Rabbit, not caring about weather, 
thought it was all great fun. He went to 
sleep that night still hearing the raindrops 
murmuring and the stars singing and 
swinging about him. 

Everything was friendly toward the little 
earth animal who had come to visit the sky. 
Day after day little Blue Rabbit roamed 


135 


about of his own free will. There was noth¬ 
ing to do but enjoy himself—nothing to fear 
but his own shadow. Yet the blue bunny 
was not happy. He missed the soft, furry 
bodies that used to lie huddled close to his. 
He missed the funny, wrinkly- noses that 
used to rub against his own. He missed, oh, 
how he missed, little Humpty Dee, his 
friend. For alas, Granny Long-Ears had 
been wrong. There was not in all Sky Land 
another rabbit! 

Orion, one day, saw tears in Blue Rabbit’s 
eyes. 

“Lonesome, are you?” he said. 

Blue Rabbit nodded. “I miss the other 
bunnies,” he said. 

“Want to go back?” asked the hunter. 

Blue Rabbit nodded again. 

“I shall let it be known, then,” said Orion. 
He raised his hunter’s horn and called: 


136 


“Let it be known! Let it be known! Bine 
Rabbit wishes to return to earth.” 

“Why—why!” the sun fairies tumbled 
about in surprise. “We’ll take you, Blue 
Rabbit. We were just going down anyhow; 
we’ll carry you along.” 

They gathered about him. But, dear me! 
sun fairies never stand still long enough 
to pick. up anything, let alone a fat little 
bunny. And although a great number of 
them tried, they could not stop their flitting 
long enough to lay hold of even Blue Rab¬ 
bit’s big ears. 

“We’ll take you,” said the raindrops. 

“We were just going down, too. Our 
cloud can carry you most of the way and 
you can drop the rest.” 

“And the people in the valley will say, 
‘Look, it’s raining rabbits!’ Ho, ho, ho!” 
laughed the Man in the Moon. 


137 


“Well/’ said Orion, a little stiffly, “what 
would you suggest?” 

“Suggest—suggest? I don’t know what 
you mean by suggest ,” said the Man in the 
Moon. “But if you would like to know what 
I’d do —I’d go ask the sun,” he said to Blue 
Rabbit. 

So Blue Rabbit went to the sun—not too 
close and a little timidly. But the great sun 
looked upon him kindly. 

“You wish to go back, do you?” he said. 
“Well, that’s easy, little one, especially as 
the sunbeams and the raindrops both will 
help. Let the raindrops fall and let the sun¬ 
beams shine right through them and that 
will make a rainbow.” 

“A rainbow!” faltered Blue Rabbit. 

“You can slide down it,” said the sun. 

And presently it happened that all the 
people on earth were saying, “Oh, what a 


138 


beautiful rainbow!” But the little animals 
in the woods, who could never see a rainbow 
because of the tops of the trees, were all 
saying, “Look, oh, lookl Here is our Blue 
Rabbit come back again!” 

They ran to greet him. They came close 
to him and rubbed their noses against his. 
Blue Rabbit ran to his mother. She drew 
him close to her soft brown body and folded 
her long ears about his little head. 

All of a sudden there was a stir in the 
blackberry bushes. “Granny! Granny!” 
shouted Humpty Dee. “Blue Rabbit has 
come back again!” 

The old lady rabbit hobbled out from her 
hole. She went right to the sycamore tree 
and looked Blue Rabbit over carefully. 

“You’re just as blue as ever,” she said. 

“I thought he was just a little darker,” 
said Blue Rabbit’s mother. 


139 


“Not the least trifle,” repeated Granny 
Long-Ears firmly. 

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” said Blue Rab¬ 
bit. 

“Doesn’t matter! Doesn’t it matter?” 
asked Humpty Dee anxiously. 

“No,” Blue Rabbit answered cheerfully. 
“One thing I learned in Sky Land was never 
to be afraid. It isn’t good,” he repeated, re¬ 
membering the words of the Man in the 
Moon. “It isn’t good to be afraid—not good 
at all.” 

“Let’s scamper, then,” cried the little 
bunnies joyfully. 

Blue Rabbit ran through the woods with 
them. He felt the soft, fragrant pine 
needles beneath his feet. He lifted his head 
and sniffed—oh, how sweet was the smell 
of green leaves and warm earth after the 
rain! 


140 


As the bunnies scampered back toward 
home, they heard Mother Rabbit calling, 
“Blueberry buns, blueberry buns!” 

“Blueberry buns!” echoed all the little 
rabbits. 

“I shall have to sing a new song,” said old 
Granny Long-Ears. And she sang: 

“Every little rabbit— 

Every little rabbit— 

Every little rabbit must look where he runs. 
And you better come a-scooting when we’ve 
blueberry buns!” 


141 



















































I 





























Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: Oct. 2006 

PreservationTechnologies 

A WORLD LEADER IN PAPER PRESERVATION 

1 11 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranbeny Township. PA 16066 
(724)779-2111 




























